Color Blind
by ZivaFan
Summary: Team fic. A dead African American Marine is found hanging from a tree. He was beaten and shot. Was it a lynching? Set during season 3 Completed
1. Chapter 1

**Color blind**

_Disclaimer: NCIS as well as the NCIS characters do not belong to me. This is just for fun._

_A/N: Rated PG-13 for violence. _

_I would like to thank my betas, Rinne and Tweeter. Rinne not only gave me good comments on the story and corrected my grammar, but also taught me some useful rules that seem to have already improved the way I write dialogue. She also saved me from a rather significant plot hole. Tweeter helped me decide between two versions of one of the chapters and made very useful comments that improved the text._

_Any mistakes made are my own._

**Chapter 1**

Jeff Wilson thought a camping trip would be a good way to get his kids and his new wife, Sarah, to interact more like a family. Instead, it was one long and tedious fight. After eight hours of hearing such clichéd sentences as, "You can't tell me what to do, you're not my mother!" and, "I don't care what your mother would say, she's not here, and what I say goes!" he realized he couldn't have been more wrong. At least they were finally at the campsite. He could now take out his fishing gear, head for the nearby river, and leave Sarah and the kids to fight among themselves.

As he arrived at the river, Jeff started preparing his fishing equipment. The sound of a bird made him look to his left. At first he didn't register what he was looking at, but after a few seconds he jumped and started running towards the campsite and his family. A man was hanging from a tree. He was wearing what was left of a Marine dress uniform and looked like he had been beaten to death. A few vultures were pecking away at his eyes.

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Tony had to know who the guy he saw Ziva with last night was. It wasn't a matter of wanting to know, but of needing to know. Ziva knew so much about his personal life. It was unfair that he knew so little about hers. He was the one that introduced Ziva to Philomena's ice cream, in Georgetown, after she had asked him and McGee where she could find good dark chocolate flavored gelato. It was the best ice-cream place in the DC area. He had a friend that swore that this was the best place to take a woman on a first date, and even though Tony believed that ice-cream was a serious matter, not to be mixed up with romance, he finally decided to try it.

After ordering and receiving his gelato (chocolate, pistachio and caramel) he turned around and bumped right into Ziva. Naturally, she managed to gracefully move in time to avoid the now airborne ice-cream cone, which fell directly onto his shoulder.

"Ah, poor Dinozzo," she said. She took a spoon from the counter and started eating the chocolate gelato from his shoulder. "Couldn't you order the dark chocolate? It's much better than the milk chocolate."

He mumbled something about doing better next time, while looking at the guy that stood with her. He was about six foot three, black, and had about him an air of confidence, not dissimilar to Ziva's. Tony couldn't help but notice that he was very handsome, at least if you liked the tall, dark and fit type. He also noticed, that like Ziva, he had no trouble avoiding the gelato projectile, and that he and Ziva did not seem to be on a first date. Ziva introduced Tony to the guy, as Tony Dinozzo, her partner. It seemed to Tony that the man had already heard all about him. She introduced the man to Tony as Paul, and gave no further information. Paul shook Tony's hand politely, and offered some polite chit chat in a British accent, which Monica, Tony's date, found to be extremely attractive. The rest of Tony's date didn't go very well. He wasn't at the top of his game and it didn't help that Monica kept talking about how much she loved British accents.

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Naturally, the next morning was spent trying to gather information. He was now engaging in his 12th unsuccessful attempt. "Come on, Ziva. Give me a clue. Who was he? Did you meet him here? Is he a spy? Are you sleeping with him? What am I saying? You're obviously sleeping with him."

"What makes you so sure of that, Tony?" asked McGee, who tried very hard to seem uninterested in the conversation, but was actually very curious to hear more about Ziva's mysterious friend.

"Well I saw him! That body! That face! And don't get me started on the accent! The guy is a chick magnet," said Tony.

Ziva, who agreed with Tony's assessment of Paul and was indeed sleeping with him, started asking Tony whether Paul was his type, but was interrupted by Gibbs who was approaching his desk.

"Load up, we have a case," Gibbs said, opening his desk drawer and removing his gun.

Ziva, Tony and McGee collected their equipment and rushed after their boss.

"What have we got, boss?" asked McGee.

"A marine was found in the Rappahannock River Campground, looks like it may have been a lynching. Ducky will meet us there."

"What makes you think it was a lynching, Gibbs?" asked Ziva.

"Black marine, found beaten to death, hanging from a tree with swastikas carved on its trunk. What does that sound like to you, Officer David?" barked Gibbs.

"I'd say that sounds like it might be a lynching," replied Ziva.

"Good thinking," Gibbs said sarcastically.

As the elevator doors were closing Tony turned to Ziva and started questioning her about Paul again, only to be slapped on the back of the head by Gibbs. "Keep your eye on the ball, Dinozzo."

"Sorry, Boss," Tony said, and glared at Ziva who was smiling at him innocently.

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They arrived at the campsite about an hour later. It would have been an hour and a halfs drive, if Gibbs hadn't been behind the wheel. McGee didn't really see the point of Gibbs driving so fast, considering they now had to wait for Ducky and Palmer to arrive, but he wasn't about to say anything like that to Gibbs. The scene did indeed look like the scene of a lynching. Faced with it, Tony seemed to forget all about Ziva and Paul, and put his work face on. Ziva was doing her job, processing the scene with the rest of them, but she seemed to be a bit shaken. If it was anyone else, McGee probably wouldn't have noticed the slight change in demeanor, but Ziva always seemed so confident that even the slightest bit of discomfort on her part tended to stand out.

"Ziva, you okay?" McGee asked. "You seem a little… tense."

Ziva looked at him. "I really don't like Nazis," she replied, her tone rejecting any further questions.

McGee knew better than to try and press the point.

After an initial sweep of the area, Gibbs sent Ziva and McGee to talk to Mr. Wilson, the man that found the body. He seemed very shaken, and didn't seem to have much information to give. They took his name and number and allowed him to leave with his bickering family.

After a short while, Ducky arrived with Palmer. They approached the hanging body carefully in order not to disturb the crime scene. After the body was photographed from all directions, they took it down gently. Ducky knelt beside the body and started examining it.

"I thought you said this poor man was beaten to death, Jethro," Ducky said.

"I take it he wasn't?" Gibbs asked.

"Well," said Ducky, "he was definitely beaten quite badly, but someone also shot him. I'll have to take the body back to the morgue to see which happened first. Oh dear, mother always said that lynching was the worst crime there is."

"I have to agree with your mother about that, Ducky," Tony said, who was taking photographs of the rope that was used to tie the Marine's hands and legs.

"Oh yes, indeed," replied Ducky. "I just hope she falls asleep before it comes on the news, otherwise she will be so very upset."

Just as they were speaking, they could see a number of news vans approaching.

"I guess Gibbs is going to have to speak to the reporters," observed Tony. "Good thing he doesn't have a cup of coffee for them to spill this time."

Ziva and McGee, who had finished talking to Mr. Wilson, joined Tony and Ducky and they all watched Gibbs as he approached the reporters.

"This is going to be a big story, you know," said Tony. "An African American marine dressed in his dress uniform, found beaten, shot and hanging from a tree…"

"Not to mention the swastikas," said Ziva.

"Yup," said Tony. "We had better wrap this up quickly."

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Color blind**

_Disclaimer: NCIS as well as the NCIS characters do not belong to me. This is just for fun._

_A/N: Rated PG-13 for violence. _

_I would like to thank my betas, Rinne and Tweeter. Rinne not only gave me good comments on the story and corrected my grammar, but also taught me some useful rules that seem to have already improved the way I write dialogue. She also saved me from a rather significant plot hole. Tweeter helped me decide between two versions of one of the chapters and made very useful comments that improved the text._

_Any mistakes made are my own._

**Chapter 2**

Gibbs was getting annoyed. Talking to the press was never one of his favourite pass times, but ever since he mishandled the media on the recent "model boot camp" case, he was even more aware of how unsuited he was to media relations. The problem was that he couldn't think of anyone on his team that would be any better. Ziva was about as tactful and patient as he was, not to mention her tendency to misuse English and invent the most bizarre phrases, Tony would no doubt start flirting with all the female reporters and McGee would get so nervous you wouldn't be able to understand a word he was saying. No, this was one task he couldn't delegate to anyone on his team. After being asked for the twentieth time whether this was a racially motivated hate crime, and repeating that they had just arrived at the scene and had no information regarding the motive for this crime as of yet, he managed to disengage himself and head back towards his team.

Tony was just getting off the phone. "Boss, we got the name of the marine off his dog tags, Sergeant Charles Richards. Served a tour in Iraq, was injured and returned home six months ago, currently on leave and staying with his parents. I just got their address. They live close by."

"Tony, Ziva, you're with me," Gibbs barked. "McGee, stay here and take care of the crime scene."

The three agents got into one of the two NCIS vans and drove to the address of the victim.

When they arrived there, Gibbs told Ziva and Tony to start talking to the neighbours and see if they could find out more about the Sergeant. He was going to give the family the bad news.

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The street the Richards family lived on was part of a quiet middle-class suburban neighbourhood. It was around 12:30 in the afternoon and no one was home in most of the houses Tony and Ziva visited. The old lady living right across from the Richards' house was shocked to hear the news of what happened to "poor Charlie". From her, they learned that the Richards family moved into the neighbourhood about 15 years before when Charlie was just a small child. She had nothing but good words to say about him and seemed to regard him as a hero, back from the war.

"He was such a good child, always helped me with my bags when I came back from town. Oh, his poor, poor mother."

The only other house they found to be occupied was the one four houses to the right of the Richards family home. When they knocked a woman, Mrs Arnold, opened the door and, after they identified themselves, let them in. Ziva thought the house looked like one of those American homes you'd see in movies from the 50's and that Mrs Arnold seemed to fit right in: the perfect housewife. The woman seemed to be extremely upset after hearing the news.

"Charlie was such a lovely young man," she said. "My husband thought the world of him. He said Charlie was the best student he ever had. Most children don't really like math, but Charlie couldn't get enough of it."

She paused, looked down at her feet and continued. "I don't know how I'm going to tell Natalie about this."

"Natalie?" asked Ziva

Mrs. Arnold lifted her eyes from her feet and looked up at Ziva. "My daughter. She and Charlie were close friends, since they were little. What am I going to say to her?"

"Where is she now?" asked Tony.

"At work," answered Mrs. Arnold.

"Why don't you give us her work address?" suggested Tony. "That way we can tell her ourselves."

Mrs. Arnold seemed almost relieved at Tony's suggestion. She wrote the address down on a piece of paper and handed it to Tony.

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Mrs. Arnold's daughter, Natalie, worked as a secretary in a veterinarian clinic, just a few blocks from where she lived. While she attempted to maintain a cheerful demeanour towards what she assumed were respective clients, Natalie Arnold seemed to Ziva to be worried about something. As Tony introduced himself and Ziva as NCIS agents, and explained what NCIS stood for, Ziva studied the young woman. Natalie kept playing nervously with her long blond hair and seemed to grow more and more agitated as Tony continued with his introduction. After Tony gently broke the news of what had happened to Charles Richards, the girl broke down crying. Ziva tried to comfort her by putting her hand on her shoulder, but felt a kind of inadequacy. She wasn't very good at comforting people she didn't know and didn't really know how to handle it when people, that she wasn't close to, started crying. Finally, to Ziva's relief Natalie stopped crying. Tony handed her a tissue and she blew her nose. From her response it was clear to both Tony and Ziva that Charles and Natalie were more than just friends. When they asked Natalie about it, she confirmed that indeed ever since Charlie had gotten back from Iraq, they had become romantically involved. They were even starting to discuss getting engaged and were planning on telling their families about it. Ziva asked Natalie why it was that even before they told her about what happened to Charles, she seemed to be worried.

"Last week," said Natalie, "we went to the movies, with some friends, and Charlie got into an argument with this guy."

"What was the argument about?"

The girl started tugging on her hair again. "He didn't like the fact that Charlie and I were together. He started making comments. When he used the N-word, Charlie punched him in the face." Ziva had to strain her ears to hear the last part, because Natalie was almost whispering, when she mentioned the racist word.

"What happened then?" asked Tony.

The girl replied, "Charlie's friends pulled him off the guy. He was screaming curse words and racial slurs and he promised he would get back at Charlie."

Ziva asked, "Did you know who he was?"

"He used to go to school with us, his name is Jeff White. I've been so worried that something would happen, because Jeff is hanging around with a really bad bunch of skinheads. I've been terrified that he might bring over his friends and make good on his promise."

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Gibbs, Tony and Ziva were sitting in the NCIS van, parked in front of the warehouse that, according to the local police, was being used as a headquarters for the skinheads Jeff White was hanging around with. They were waiting for McGee to arrive with the warrant to search the premises.

Gibbs was on the phone with Abby. "What have you got for me, Abs?"

"The Sergeant's body was covered in blood, but not all of it was his. I think there are samples from at least four other people, I'm still working on isolating them. I also may have some saliva samples."

"What about prints?" Gibbs questioned.

"The rope had a few sets of prints on it. Most of them aren't in the system, but one set is."

"Give me a name, Abby."

"Martin Short, a skinhead; one count of aggravated assault, served two years, is currently out on parole, residing not three miles from where Sergeant Richards was found."

Gibbs scribbled the details down. "Thanks, Abs."

"You're more than welcome, Gibbs."

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Tony couldn't just sit in silence and wait; it was driving him mad. Gibbs was talking to Abby on the phone and Ziva seemed content to just sit and stare at the warehouse, but he needed some conversation. He turned to Ziva. "Penny for your thoughts."

Ziva looked at him and replied, "That's a bit cheap, isn't it?"

"What is?" asked Tony.

"A penny, my thoughts are worth more than that."

Tony rolled his eyes. "It's just an expression Ziva."

"Well you should really update your expressions. Offer me fifty dollars and we'll see."

Tony smiled at Ziva. "I'll pay you 50 dollars if you agree to answer my questions on Paul," he said.

She turned towards him and asked, "Why are you so interested in Paul, Tony? Why this obsession?"

Tony replied, "I'm not obsessed. I just don't see why you're allowed to know everything about my private life and I'm not allowed to know anything about yours. You're my partner, for god's sake. Partners are supposed to share."

Ziva stared at Tony. "The only reason I know everything about your life is that you share all the details with everyone you've ever met, whether they wanted to know or not."

Tony started to object to this, only to be interrupted by McGee arriving with the warrant

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The NCIS agents burst into the warehouse, guns in hand, and surprised the five skinheads that were sitting around a table drinking beer and playing cards. The warehouse itself looked like a museum of hate paraphernalia. A large Nazi flag covered the wall behind the table, and Hitler's portrait hung on another piece of wall. Posters glorifying Arian unity and power as well as other posters warning against a Jewish conspiracy to take over the world, could also be seen. One of the Skinheads, a stocky man in his early twenties, that seemed to be the leader, smiled at the agents and said, "Look, guys, it's the agents of our Zionist government."

"Which one of you is Martin Short?" asked Gibbs, training his gun on the skinheads.

"That would be me," said the still smiling skinhead.

Ziva, who was being covered by Tony, McGee and Gibbs, approached him. "Assume the position," she ordered. Short was starting to comply when he saw the Star of David hanging from her neck.

"Look guys they sent a bitch Ki-" he started saying, but never managed to finish the sentence. He found himself on the floor, with his hand bent behind his back, in a position that would allow Ziva to break it with ease. It was extremely painful.

Ziva knelt beside him, maintaining her grip on his hand, and whispered into his ear, "Nobody, ever calls me that. In fact, if I hear another racial slur, any racial slur, come out of your filthy, racist mouth, I will truly teach you the meaning of pain. Are we clear?"

Short mumbled a weak "yes" and Ziva lifted him up and handed him over to Tony. As the other agents cuffed the remaining four skinheads, one of which turned out to be Jeff White, Tony informed Short that he was under arrest for the murder of sergeant Charles Richards.

Short started screaming, 'I don't know what you're talking about, I didn't kill that Ni…guy." He quickly corrected himself after looking at Ziva, who was staring at him menacingly.

"We found your prints all over the rope that was used to hang him, peanut head," said Tony. "Game over!"

Before leaving the warehouse with the others, Ziva turned back and tore down the Nazi flag from the wall.

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Gibbs decided that it would be best to let the skinheads sit and steam for a while before starting the interrogation. He decided that Ziva would conduct Short's interrogation. 'Might as well use the fact that the guy is totally terrified of her.' Gibbs couldn't help but approve of the way she handled Short. It was nice to have someone on his team that was almost as scary as he was.

The interrogation should be simple enough. The case was really, more or less, open and shut. The fingerprints on the rope belonged to Short, to Jeff White and to two of the other skinheads. Gibbs was sure that the blood samples would also match them. It was clear that they had beaten Sergeant Richards up and that they had hung him from the tree. The only thing Gibbs wasn't happy about was that they hadn't found a gun in the warehouse. The skinheads must have gotten rid of it.

Just as he handed Short's file to Ziva and told her that she would be doing the interview, the phone on his desk rang and he answered it. "Yes Ducky, what have you got for me?"

As the conversation ended, Gibbs turned to Ziva and said,

"The cause of death wasn't the beating. It was the bullet Ducky found in him."

"Well, isn't that what we assumed?" offered Ziva. "After they got tired of beating him up, they finished him off by shooting him."

"According to Ducky, he was already dead when the beating started. If we can't find that gun, or get a confession, we have no way to prove that Short and his friends actually murdered the Sergeant. They'll be able to say they found him dead and just had fun defiling his body. They'll be out of jail in no time."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Color blind**

_Disclaimer: NCIS as well as the NCIS characters do not belong to me. This is just for fun._

_A/N: Rated PG-13 for violence. _

_I would like to thank my betas, Rinne and Tweeter. Rinne not only gave me good comments on the story and corrected my grammar, but also taught me some useful rules that seem to have already improved the way I write dialogue. She also saved me from a rather significant plot hole. Tweeter helped me decide between two versions of one of the chapters and made very useful comments that improved the text._

_Any mistakes made are my own._

**Chapter 3**

Ziva stood in the observation room and looked onto the interrogation room, through the one sided mirror. Martin Short had been brought in from the holding cells about an hour ago and was getting impatient and agitated, which was exactly the way they wanted him. After hearing Ducky's news, Gibbs decided that it was better to leave the skinheads to simmer overnight before questioning them.

Ziva had spent most of the previous evening preparing for the interrogation. The remaining time, she spent arguing with Paul. The whole case was making her uneasy. Growing up in Israel, the one thing you didn't need to face was anti-Semitism. Seeing the swastikas covering the tree on which Charles Richards was found hanging, and all the Nazi paraphernalia at the warehouse was a bit of a shock. She didn't really think that such things still happened in America in the twenty-first century. Paul, whose mother was Jewish and father Nigerian, and who had grown up in Britain, seemed to be a bit baffled by Ziva's reaction to the case. He had suffered racism his entire life. The covert anti-Semitism he encountered growing up, was one of the main reasons he immigrated to Israel when he was 18. He loved his new country, but even there he had to suffer racist comments, due to the color of his skin. He couldn't believe that Ziva, who was usually extremely observant, hadn't noticed the way some people looked at them when they were together. Just because she seemed to be completely color blind didn't mean everybody was. The argument that ensued between them would have turned into an all out fight, had it been possible to fight with Paul. However, in the seven years she had known him, seven years of friendship and of on-again off-again romantic involvement, Ziva hadn't managed to have one decent fight with him, and not for lack of trying. He was just too calm. It drove Ziva insane.

Needless to say, Ziva wasn't in a particularly good mood when Gibbs finally entered the room and told her to start the interrogation.

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Meanwhile, in the adjacent interrogation room Tony and McGee were questioning Jeff White. White was about 20 years old and seemed not to have quite finished growing. He was tall and lanky and had wispy brown hair, which he kept playing with nervously. He looked like he was terrified out of his wits, which was exactly the way Tony wanted him

"Let me explain the situation to you again, Mr. White," said Tony. "We have your prints on the rope that was used to hang the victim and your blood on the victim himself. We don't really need your confession. The thing is, DAs like their cases wrapped up nicely, so there's still something to be gained by you, if you talk. On the other hand if you don't talk… Special Agent McGee, remind me again, what's the penalty for Mr. White's crime?"

McGee who was standing behind White leaned in and said, "This being a hate crime and given the heinous nature of the crime, I'd say he's looking at life, if he's lucky."

"If I'm lucky?" mumbled White.

"Or death if he isn't," McGee completed his sentence.

Jeff White was obviously very scared to begin with, but after hearing McGee's prognosis he became utterly terrified. He lowered his head onto the table, covered it with his hands and started to cry.

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Gibbs was watching Ziva interrogate Martin Short, through the one-way mirror. As she entered the room, Short, who seemed to have regained some of yesterday's cockiness, looked up and sneered at her. "Come to rough me up again, bitch?"

Ziva observed him calmly, pulled the chair that was opposite him away from the table and sat on it. "I won't lay a finger on you," she said, "unless you give me reason to."

The way she said the second part of the sentence made it clear that she would like nothing more than for Short to give her a reason to slap him around, and he seemed to get the message. He straightened himself up in the chair and started playing with the lapel of his jacket. "Why did you do it, Short? Why attack a war hero?"

Short mumbled something that Gibbs couldn't make out.

"What was that?" asked Ziva. "I didn't hear what you said. Couldn't have been a racial slur 'cause if it was you'd be flat on your back and howling in pain."

Short, who was starting to look rather worried, said, "I said we didn't kill him and he wasn't no hero."

"Let's just address that first bit. You claim that you and your friends didn't kill Sergeant Richards, yet we have your prints all over the rope and your blood on the Sergeant's body. Care to explain that?"

Gibbs was really interested to hear Short's answer and he leaned in and listened intently.

"We found him dead, we did. We just had some fun with him afterwards."

That was the answer Gibbs and Ziva were worried that Short might give them; unless one of the skinheads confessed there was really no way to disprove such a lie. Ziva, however, acted as if she was shocked and had never heard such an incredible response. "You think anyone is going to believe that a bunch of skinheads just happened to find the body of a black marine sergeant that had insulted one of them only a few days before?" asked Ziva, leaning closer to the skinhead in front of her. "The jury will never buy that. They will know you killed him." Ziva leaned back in her seat and continued, "Now, let's be reasonable. Four of you have your prints all over that rope and your blood all over the Sergeant's body. The first one to talk will have the chance to cut himself a nice deal. The others get nothing."

Short was becoming more agitated by the moment. He started to get up from his chair, but immediately sat back down again when Ziva told him to. "Look, I'm telling the fucking truth. We found him. We came to the warehouse two nights ago and he was there, completely dead. We were fucking drunk, decided to fuck him up so that his type will think twice before fucking with our women. But we didn't kill him."

"So you're saying that you arrived at your headquarters and he was just there?" asked Ziva skeptically.

"That's what I'm telling you. He was there dressed up in his fancy uniform."

Ziva was getting angrier by the minute and was really tempted to rough the little liar up a bit but, before she could contemplate the possibility further, Gibbs entered the room and asked her to come outside.

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Ziva closed the door of the interrogation room behind her and was met by Gibbs, Tony and McGee. She looked at Gibbs and asked, "You don't believe him? Do you?"

Gibbs didn't answer. Instead Tony informed her that Jeff White and the two remaining skinheads were all telling the same story: They had found Sergeant Richards, in front of their warehouse when they came back to it, drunk, the night before last. They then beat it up and took it to the river for what they considered a traditional hanging.

"Dress uniform," said Gibbs.

"What's that, boss?" asked Tony.

"He was wearing a dress uniform."

"So what?" asked Ziva. "He was still a soldier. He was about to be released, but he still went to physical therapy every day, and that's in a military base. Wouldn't he wear his uniform for that?"

"Not his dress uniform," said Tony. "That's only for ceremonies and stuff."

"We need to find out why he was wearing that uniform," said Gibbs. "Ziva, Tony, go talk to the Sergeant's friends. Maybe they'll know. McGee and I will go speak to his parents."

Ziva considered arguing, but decided against it. In the past few months of working for Gibbs at NCIS she had learned that when investigating a crime the obvious answer often didn't lead to the truth.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Color blind**

_Disclaimer: NCIS as well as the NCIS characters do not belong to me. This is just for fun._

_A/N: Rated PG-13 for violence. _

_I would like to thank my beta, Rinne. She not only gave me good comments on the story and corrected my grammar, but also taught me some useful rules that will hopefully improve the way I write dialogue. I would also like to thank Tweeter, for reading the story, and checking it for any plot holes, or problems with clarity or tone. _

_Any mistakes made are my own._

**Chapter 4**

McGee was often impressed by how well Gibbs handled the families of victims. He found that he himself, when faced with such enormous grief, did not know how to act, or what to say. Yet Gibbs, who was usually rather tactless, seemed to know exactly the right way to behave. They were sitting in the Richards' living room. Mrs. Richards was sitting in a chair facing the window. She looked like she had been sitting there for a long time, and didn't even acknowledge them when they arrived. She hadn't spoken a word since.

Mr. Richards, on the other hand, seemed to crave conversation.

"He had such big plans, my Charlie, he wanted to be a teacher. He always loved kids," said Mr. Richards. "I think he was going to propose to that girl of his, Natalie."

"What makes you say that, sir?" asked Gibbs.

"He told me that there was something he wanted to talk to me about, sounded real happy. I know he and Natalie were getting more and more serious about each other. He spent most of his time with her, since he got back."

Mr. Richards cupped his face in his hands and started to weep quietly. Gibbs got up, sat next to him and put his hand on his shoulder. "I know this is hard on you, sir."

Mr. Richards looked up at Gibbs with tears in his eyes. "My son never hurt anybody. He was so happy to come back from the war alive. Never complained about his leg hurting, although I know it did. Why would anyone do such a thing to him?"

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Sergeant Michael Lieberman was learning to walk. He had done so once before, like everyone else, when he was a toddler, but back then he had the advantage of having both his legs. Now, thanks to a car-bomb that exploded at the road block he was manning near Tikrit, he was left with only one. When Tony and Ziva arrived to talk to him, his physiotherapist suggested that he take a break, so he allowed them to wheel him over to the small dinning-hall that was just around the corner from the physiotherapy room.

"You probably want to talk about Charlie?" he asked once they were all seated around a table.

"That's right," said Tony.

"I don't know what I can tell you. I can't believe something like this could happen."

"Why don't you start by telling us how you two met," offered Ziva.

"We were both injured around the same time, got primary medical care in Iraq, and were flown back to the US together. Charlie was one of those true optimists, never complained. Dealing with something like this, it was really good to have him around."

"You were close?" asked Tony.

The Sergeant held back tears and replied, "You could say so, yes".

Tony decided it was time to change the subject. "Natalie told us you were there last week, when Charlie got into that fight with Jeff White".

Lieberman nodded his head. "I was there, I couldn't help him, being in this damn chair and all, but I was there. The gall of that little shrimp, coming up to Charlie, and mouthing off about how the likes of him shouldn't be dating a white girl; after Charlie nearly got his head blown off trying to defend…" he trailed off. "And then he used that word, and Charlie punched him in the face. Well he deserved it." He lifted his head up and looked from Ziva to Tony and back again. "Will you need me to testify, about the fight? Because I'll be more than happy to help. Whatever it takes to make those bastards pay for what they did."

"We will probably need you for that, Sergeant, but we need to ask you a different question first," said Ziva. "Do you know of a reason why Sergeant Richards would be wearing his dress uniform on the day he died?"

The Sergeant looked a bit surprised at the question but nodded his head. "I can only think of one reason, but its kind of silly."

"Please Sergeant, this could be important," encouraged Tony.

"He was planning on proposing to Natalie, but he wanted to tell her parents first. He was kind of nervous about it to, especially about telling her father. Maybe he thought wearing that fancy uniform would help."

"Why was he so nervous?" asked Tony.

"I've never met Natalie's father or anything, but from what I hear, he's mighty protective of her. I guess Charlie thought he might think he wasn't good enough for her."

"Why would he think that?" asked Ziva.

The Sergeant shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not sure. Natalie's father used to be his math teacher, and from what I gather they got along very well. I always thought it was just nerves, on Charlie's part. I guess we'll never know, seeing how he never managed to talk to him."

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"So you're saying you think Natalie's father shot Charlie because he wanted to marry his daughter?" asked Ziva after taking another bite from her hamburger.

Tony stole some of her French fries and stuffed them into his mouth. "You have to admit it's a possibility. He shoots Charlie, and then, knowing about the fight last week, throws the body in front of the warehouse, hoping the blame falls on the skinheads. They just did him an extra favor, by doing a number on the body and hanging it next to the river."

"But why would he do that?" Ziva asked excitedly. "Why would he even object to his daughter marrying a war hero, one that loves her and who wants to be a teacher, just like him?"

"Have you ever considered that he might be a racist?" asked Tony, reaching for some more of Ziva's fries.

Ziva smacked his hand away. "What reason do you have to think he's a racist? Weren't we told twice now that Charlie was one of his favorite students? And would you mind keeping your hands out of my fries? I haven't even touched them yet and they're already half gone. It's not my fault you ordered your steak well done."

"What the hell is wrong with ordering it well done?" asked Tony.

"For one thing, it's a terrible thing to do to a cow. Not only is she dead, she's also insulted, and more importantly, it takes longer to arrive and you end up eating all my fries," replied Ziva, moving her fries out of Tony's reach.

"Well, some of us don't like to eat live cow, Ziva." Tony leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over his chest.

"Anyway," said Ziva, "let's get back to your theory. What makes you think he's a racist?"

"I'm not saying that he necessarily is. I'm not even saying that he shot him. The skinheads could well be lying. I'm just saying that we need to consider the possibility," Tony said, hungrily eying Ziva's fries, which were now well out of his reach. He was really hungry and the steak he ordered was nowhere to be seen. Even Ziva's extra-rare hamburger was starting to look good.

Ziva sighed and pushed her fries back towards Tony. "Do you really think people are still so concerned about skin color? I mean normal people, not skinhead Nazis."

"Some people are. Would your daddy be happy if you brought Paul home?" asked Tony and, after noticing the puzzled look on Ziva's face, added, "You know, a non-Jewish, non-Israeli black man?"

"Paul's both Jewish and Israeli, and one thing my father isn't, is racist. Besides," Ziva added with very uncharacteristic openness, "my father couldn't care less who I'm with."

"Paul's Israeli?" asked Tony. "Really?"

"Why so surprised Tony? We do come in more than one color, you know," said Ziva.

"Oh it's not that at all." Tony smiled. "That's just the first time, you actually answered a question about Paul. I can see that you're finally opening up to me. Want a hug?"

Ziva couldn't help but smile at that. "Okay, let's get this over with. I met Paul seven years ago in Israel. I was training to be a Mossad agent, he was an officer the army sent to teach us how to disarm explosive devices. He is now a bomb expert with the Israeli police and the shabak."

"So you've been involved with him for seven years?" said Tony, a bit surprised.

"We've been friends for seven years, the rest of it is more of an on-again, off again thing," answered Ziva.

"So, what is he doing here?" Tony asked, smiling at the waitress that was finally approaching their table, carrying his food order.

"He's here for a month, giving a course at Quantico on how to identify the origins of explosive devices, based on what's left of them after they explode. Sadly, he gained quite a lot of experience with that." Ziva didn't add that she suspected that the reason Paul volunteered to give the course was that he was the only person she told the truth to, regarding Ari, and that he wanted to make sure she was all right. "You know what, Tony? Why don't you come have dinner with us, on Saturday night? That way you can meet him and ask him all the questions you want."

Tony was so surprised he nearly choked on the large chunk of steak he had just put in his mouth. "You're inviting me over for dinner?" He remembered the unbelievable food he was served last time Ziva invited him to dinner, smiled and asked, "Are you going to cook?"

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Gibbs was very annoyed. He had just spent half an hour in the director's office, where she informed him of the media nightmare the case was turning into. The headlines were screaming "Lynching" and the reporters were demanding to know why the skinheads hadn't been arraigned yet. Gibbs told the director, that it wasn't yet clear whether the correct charge was in fact murder or whether it was mutilating a corpse. While the director did understand this, she was under a lot of strain, and as was the way of bosses everywhere, tried to distribute some of it onto Gibbs' shoulders.

As Gibbs was coming down the stairs from the director's office, McGee approached him. "Boss, I checked and Mr. Arnold has a gun registered to his name. It's the same caliber as the gun that shot Sergeant Richards."

"Okay," said Gibbs, "let's split up. Tony you're with me, we're going to visit the Arnolds. I want to check out Mr. Arnold's gun. McGee and Ziva, you go back to the warehouse and search it again; if those skinheads did shoot Sergeant Richards we're going to need to find that gun. As is, we've got two competing theories for the same crime. I want us to go at this from both directions, until we can find out which of the theories is the right one."

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Mr. Arnold opened the door to the two NCIS agents and immediately let them into his house. He didn't seem at all worried when they asked him to show them his gun. "It's a terrible thing that happened to poor Charlie, he was a great kid," he said, as he walked them towards his desk. "This is where I keep it, in a lockbox. I haven't shot it in years. Anyway, as I was saying, my poor Natalie is so upset. They were planning on getting married."

'If this guy shot his daughter's boyfriend, he's sure one heck of an actor,' thought Gibbs. Mr. Arnold took his time looking for the key to the lockbox. He removed the key from the keychain and opened the drawer. He seemed to Gibbs to be as surprised as anyone when they found that the lockbox was gone.

**TBC **

_The Shabak is the Israeli counter-intelligence and internal security service. The division of responsibilities between Shabak and Mossad is somewhat similar to the division of responsibilities between the FBI and the CIA._


	5. Chapter 5

**Color blind**

_Disclaimer: NCIS as well as the NCIS characters do not belong to me. This is just for fun._

_A/N: Rated PG-13 for violence. _

_I would like to thank my betas, Rinne and Tweeter. Rinne not only gave me good comments on the story and corrected my grammar, but also taught me some useful rules that seem to have already improved the way I write dialogue. She also saved me from a rather significant plot hole in this chapter. Tweeter helped me decide between two versions of the chapter and gave useful comments that improved the text._

_Any mistakes made are my own._

**Chapter 5**

In nearly 20 years of working at NCIS, Gibbs had met his share of liars. Some of them were better at it than others. Mr. Arnold, if he was in fact lying, could be considered the best of the bunch.

After realizing that the gun that was registered to Mr. Arnold could no longer be accounted for, Gibbs asked him to accompany them to the NCIS headquarters. Mr. Arnold immediately agreed to come. He did not ask for a lawyer and agreed to be printed and to give a DNA sample for testing. He was now sitting in the interrogation room, waiting to be interviewed. He seemed to be baffled, yet curious, and ever since entering the NCIS headquarters had been looking around with a sense of interest that seemed almost childlike.

"He isn't really acting like a guilty man," observed Tony.

Gibbs ignored him and entered the interrogation room. As he entered, Mr. Arnold stood up. "Ah, Agent Gibbs…"

"Please, Mr. Arnold, sit down," ordered Gibbs.

Mr. Arnold sat down.

"Let's discuss what we know," Gibbs started. "Sergeant Charles Richards was found dead, the day before last. He was shot by a .45 caliber gun, similar to the gun that is registered to you and that has conveniently gone missing. We also know that Sergeant Richards was planning on proposing to your daughter, that he wanted to talk to you about it first, and that he was nervous and thought you might not approve."

"Oh, he was nervous all right, poor kid," said Mr. Arnold. "I don't really know what he thought I was going to say. He came over to my office during my lunch hour, in his fancy dress uniform, no less. Looked like he was scared I was going to bite his head off."

This was hardly what Gibbs had expected to hear. "What happened then?"

"Well, it was really quite old-fashioned, in a way. He told me of his intentions and I asked him if he didn't think they were a bit too young. He said that he had thought about that, but that his experiences in Iraq, and his injury had taught him that life was short. He also said that he really loved my daughter and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her."

"And what did you say?" asked Gibbs.

"What could I say? I gave him my blessing," answered Mr. Arnold.

"And you didn't have a problem with the Sergeant's skin color?" Gibbs inquired.

Mr. Arnold shifted uneasily in his chair. "Look, I'm not going to say that it didn't bother me at all. The world is still not a perfect place, and there are still bigots out there. You heard about what happened just a week ago? How Charlie got into a fight with some racist degenerate? I can't say that it didn't worry me that my daughter would have to face such things for the rest of her life. Not to mention any children they might have."

"And yet you gave Charlie your blessing?"

"I had no choice! Natalie loves, I mean loved, him, and he was a good man. I guess I thought she could have done much worse."

Gibbs couldn't help but believe him. "What happened next?"

"What do you mean, what happened next?" asked Mr Arnold. "I used the remainder of my lunch hour to call my wife and tell her the news, and then I went to my next class."

"You called your wife?" Gibbs asked, interested.

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McGee and Ziva returned to the NCIS headquarters after conducting what turned out to be a long and fruitless search of the skinhead's warehouse. They were covered in dust and not a little cranky.

"That was an enormous waste of time," Ziva said, falling into her chair.

"I don't know Ziva," said McGee, trying to remove the dust that had gathered on his tie. "You sure seemed to enjoy ripping up all those racist posters."

Before Ziva could reply, the phone on her desk started ringing. "Officer David," she said, after picking up the receiver. "Okay, send her up."

Ziva put down the receiver and turned to McGee. "Mrs. Arnold wants to see us. She says she has information relevant to the case."

After a very short while, the elevator doors opened and Mrs. Arnold stepped out. She looked extremely agitated. She didn't even greet the Agents and got straight to the point. "You need to release my husband right away!"

McGee tried to use his most soothing voice. "As soon as-" he started saying, only to be interrupted by an almost hysterical Mrs. Arnold.

"You don't understand," she rushed on. "My husband didn't shoot Charlie. You're making a terrible mistake!"

"Mrs. Arnold, I understand that you want to help your husband, but getting hysterical isn't going to help," said Ziva.

Mrs. Arnold turned towards Ziva. She opened the bag she was carrying and took out a gun. Ziva, who hadn't had time to secure her gun in her desk drawer after returning from the warehouse, immediately drew her weapon and pointed it at Mrs. Arnold. McGee, who was slightly slower to react, drew his gun a couple of seconds later.

"Put the gun down!" ordered Ziva.

Mrs. Arnold seemed confused. "Oh, yes of course," she said and put the gun on a nearby desk. "You don't understand. I just wanted to show this to you. My husband didn't shoot Charlie. I did."

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The interrogation was short and conclusive. Mrs. Arnold seemed so anxious to talk that Gibbs didn't even need to ask any questions.

"After my husband told me that Charlie had visited him, I called Charlie and asked him to come over so we could talk. I wanted to convince him to change his mind. I told him that by marrying Natalie he would put her in danger. That people weren't ready to accept them as a couple and that what had happened last week was just a small example of what they would have to face everyday. He wouldn't listen. He said he loved Natalie and that was that. I didn't really expect him to understand. That's why I took the gun out of the lockbox. I waited till he turned his back to me and than I shot him.

"I wore the gloves I use to wash the dishes, and used a wheelbarrow to take his body to the car. I drove to the warehouse where Jeff White and his friends hang out and left the body next to it. I wanted to put the gun with the body, but then I remembered that it was registered and could be traced back to us, so I just hid it."

After a short pause, she started talking again. "I'm not racist. Really I'm not. I just didn't want my daughter to have to face that ugliness every day. People can be so very cruel."

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Ziva and Tony were sitting at their desks. It was after 19:00 on a Friday, and they were the only people currently in the squad room.

"Can you believe she claimed not to be a racist?" Ziva asked.

"She probably doesn't think of herself as racist." Tony was sitting with his legs propped up on his desk. "She tries to convince herself that it's not her that's racist but, rather, the rest of the world."

"And you buy that?" asked Ziva.

Tony removed his legs from the desk and sat up. "Of course I don't buy it! The lady is a racist, not to mention completely off her nut. What I don't get is how she managed to sneak that gun in. I mean they have metal detectors down there. Those guards must be complete morons."

"I'd be much more surprised at that, if it didn't happen all the time," said Ziva.

"What do you mean it happens all the time?" asked Tony.

"In Israel, for obvious reasons, there are metal detectors at the entrances to each shopping mall. You go through those things, and they start screaming, because you left your keys or you cell phone in your pocket. If you look like an old lady, or generally harmless, the guards won't usually even check. A few times a year the police conduct this country-wide test. They try and sneak fake bombs into some of the malls. Their success rate is extremely high."

"So what you're saying is that our guards didn't feel the need to search June Cleaver very well, even after the metal detector started making noise?" Tony asked.

"Who the hell is June Cleaver?" asked Ziva.

"Oh, it doesn't matter," Tony said, propping his legs up again.

Tony and Ziva sat in silence for a while, before Ziva spoke again. "What do you think is going to happen to Martin Short and the other skinheads? Are they going to walk?"

"I doubt it," said Tony. "What they did to the Sergeant's body was still a hate crime. They'll probably end up in jail for at least a couple of years."

Ziva got up and started gathering her things.

"At least we managed to close the case before the weekend," Tony offered.

"Yes," Ziva said. She approached Tony and patted him on the head. "I'll see you tomorrow night at eight, yes? Bring a bottle of wine." She put on her coat and headed for the elevators.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, partner," Tony said, a big smile on his face.

**The End**

_Ziva's account of the police, succeeding in sneaking fake bombs into shopping malls in Israel is true. About once or twice a year, Israeli papers publish articles with the results of such tests. Several of the shopping malls that are tested, fail these tests._


End file.
